


In Crime

by Missy



Category: The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
Genre: Action/Adventure, Backstory, Multi, Pre-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dixie has mixed memories of her time with Pete and Big Smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Crime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/gifts).



Dixie Cousins might have grown to be anyone when she started out on her crooked road. A nun, a mother, a bank teller, or a society matron. Instead, she’d become an outlaw, a mantle she’d never expected to bear when she was convent bred.

When she stepped out of that hallowed place with her little suitcase and a bunch of dreams lighting up her heart, she thought she’d be married to Doc forever, that her destiny lay in housekeeping. “Forever” had lasted two years – until she’d seen him shoot a man in cold blood over a poker game. And until he decided that walk out on her four weeks after she begged him to turn himself into the sheriff at Reno. 

Falling in with Smith’s gang seemed natural after that; he’d been a friend of Doc’s, and with him she knew what she was getting from the very beginning. He was easy enough to lead. Easy enough to understand, too. 

She started singing ‘cause every gal needs to butter her own bread. 

Dixie’s many things, but she’s not an idiot - and no man would ever make her his patsy again.

*** 

She’d been Smith’s moll for a good four years when Pete had joined up. He was a skinny kid; couldn’t have been any older than nineteen, with huge eyes and a mop of long hair. Eager to please at first, before he got his own sense of confidence, figured out how to get his manners going for him. 

She was fond of cosseting him; got rather close to him pretty quickly because he was so naive she was certain he’d trip over his own boots and land head-first in a barrel of trouble. He didn’t belong there in that life any more than she did, but Dixie was too stubborn, too blinded by simple lust and the security of hanging off of a man’s arm, to make a break of her own at that time.

Smith was an easier choice. Tough and powerful, with gobs of cash to spare and a listening ear – someone who liked her enough to look the other way when she stepped out, and somebody who wouldn’t see it coming when she tried to take over his gang under the table. 

People don’t go asking Miss Dixie what she does with her off time. They moon over her, worship her from afar certainly. But they never ask what she’s doing whispering to Pete in a quiet corner of a bar, and they don’t know that she’s been hiding away bank notes by the hundred in the lining of her mattress to further her cause. They just watch her smile as she sings up on that stage, leaning in real close, whispering through the haze of clove-scented smoke to each other. 

*** 

It happened once. 

Smith had just successfully robbed a security train, a plan that had taken them about a year to form and execute, one of the very first he let Dixie lead. They jumped from the rails and Dixie felt alive for the first time in her life, laughing, a bag of money clutched in her fist. 

At home, she watched as Smith spread out the bright-shaded ill-gotten gains across the dining room table and popped a bottle of bubbly, giving them plenty of time to get blazingly, off-their rockers drunk. 

He picked her up like she was nothing and rolled her through the accumulated cash. Dixie felt decadent; a symbol of wickedness, Salome with a smile, the currency sticking to her sweat-slicked flesh as she tumbled. Smith’s hands were eager on her buttocks, stripping away buttons, growling at her coquettish smile. 

She was on her knees, clinging to the edge of the table when she saw Pete watching them, watching her, with an animal hunger from the doorway. He could not move without attracting censure; she, stuffed full of Smith, couldn't move away from Smith without causing a fuss. It was up to her to make the right move, the ultimate move.

“Come here, Pete,” she said, her fingers spread toward him. “I need you.” 

Smith stopped mid-thrust. “Now just you wait a minute, Dixie, this bed ain't a democracy. Who says you need a fella like him when you got me?”

“Smith, you know it’s not smart to tell a lady what she does and doesn’t wamt.” _What **we** need,_ she thought but didn't say.

Smith grumbled. He fucked. She sucked in a breath and coaxed Pete, Pete with his obvious hard on and his embarrassed smile, out of the doorway.

He shut the door and they met at the lips.

*** 

They were together almost every night for a whole solid week when it fell apart, but what a week it was! Glorious sex, big heists, and some actual changes to Pete’s character that gave him some new, fresh sense of confidence - all thanks to her gentle touch, Dixie decided. 

Smith was pleased with him for the first time. Actually gave Pete his own gun, which he clung to with the innocent delight of a small child, calling it his ‘piece’. But that ego, bloomed to life with such unexpected fierceness, ultimately ended up driving a wedge between them. Naturally so, Dixie thought - their temperaments were too different, too pungent, to create a harmonious relationship that extended farther than the bedroom. But Dixie dug her nails in and she tried, making herself a bridge of human flesh, trying to convince both men that they needed each other, that it could go beyond the simple fact of partnership into something great for them all.

She had a silly domestic period filled with burnt laundry and scorched cake before she gave up that ghost of an idea. Flipped flapjacks at the camp and tried to get them to spend time together around a campfire. But it goes over like a fart in church, and in the end she went back to her singing, occasionally hanging off Smith's arm - occasionally retraining information for her own personal gain.

*** 

Years later she sat alone and wondered how they managed to take it that far, and how they managed to flame out so suddenly and spectacularly. It almost seemed like an illusion to her now, living with Brisco, loving him in a way she never loved Smith. 

Her old paramour lays in a ditch somewhere in west; Pete journeyed the south, trying to discover his inner good when not straining her sense of faith in him to the maximum. She often found herself wishing that someone would take that boy over their knee, or into their bed, push him out of the dark all the way, and back into the light.

Sometimes she imaginex what it would be like, tangled with Brisco, tangled with Pete. Fixing all of their flaws and getting what she needs and craves in her aching, wanton flesh.

She knows the truth. That she can turn a bad boys into angel, if only for a glittering moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Happy Holly Poly!


End file.
